


Removal Day

by SkazuhiraMiller



Series: Space Oddity [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Body Horror, Childbirth (sort of), Gen, MGSV made you a nameless medic so i can too, why else would her scar be like that?, you seek answers and I give you Aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 23:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14862489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller
Summary: "if there’s a God, you’re pretty sure he’s far, far away right now. But that’s how war is anyhow. Abandoned by gods when we needed them most. Maybe that’s His punishment for bringing this kid here. It’s no place for an infant."





	Removal Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm proud i managed to get this finished for Ocelot's Removal Day (June 6th) .... yet another fic based on one of my tweets. This is meant to be the beginning to a large scale, canon-spanning Parasite Alien Ocelot timeline.

If you get out of this alive you're gonna have some strong words for whoever put together this squad. Let's send out only one medic with delivery experience out with the pregnant Cobra. What could possibly go wrong?

Well. He could take several bullets leaving only you, Bernstein, Peters and Joy. Tried your best but Jenkins was a goner. That baby could be ready any time now and none of you knew shit about _childbirth_. She was handling like a champ though. Telling you all you'll do great. You and Peters exchange a look. You're not so sure. This is D-Day after all. And word among the medics is that this was one doozy of a pregnancy. Like no shit they'd ever seen before. Her record says she went into a three-month long coma after a bullet wound to the brain. Somehow made a snap recovery after waking up. She thinks maybe her body meant her to survive for her child. You don’t know about that. If there’s anything you’ve learned out here it’s that there’s no such thing as fate. Maybe that kid just really fucking wanted to live.

You look at her. She's a helluva woman. She could drop anyone in your normal unit, no problem, including the officers. Even eight and a half months pregnant. True Cobra material. If anyone could carry a baby through a coma, it’s her. Not the type to die in childbirth either, but then, this is war.

You end up under heavy fire. The four of you manage to push them back following her shrewd orders. Or you thought so. Because then it happens. It’s like fate was listening to you earlier saying it doesn’t exist. You see her go down, clutching her abdomen. _Fuck_. Bernstein turns to you from looking out there. His face says everything. Whoever got her is long gone.

Guess there’s nothing left to do but your job. You manage to move her to a safer area where you can operate.

“The baby,” she says, voice on the edge of breaking. The baby. Of course.

You assess the situation. If the baby is happening now… you foresee one complicated Caesarean operation what with that bullet wound. That bullet wound. That is now oozing _black,_ swirling in wisps with the blood. You’re pretty sure _that’s usually not part of this._ First things first. You disinfect the area and get ready to remove the bullet.

“We’re gonna get that bullet out for you first, ma’am,” you tell her. You’re not sure if she hears you. Alright. Remove the bullet. You prepare the forceps. You examine the wound closer. Your visual on the bullet gets obscured by a spurt of the black shit. You blink.  It’s gone. You’re not quite sure what you just saw. Maybe you’re seeing things from adrenaline but. You’re pretty sure the black slime… _ate the lead._ Or something. And now there’s a lot more of it. You motion to Peters.

“You get the bullet out?” he asks.

“Not.. exactly. Take a look.” He looks.

“What in the-”

There’s even _more_ black slime. You can’t even see blood anymore from the wound. Bernstein flips through the medical manual with shaky hands. You open your mouth to tell him, _what, do you really think the manual is gonna have a section on PREGNANCY BULLET WOUND  BLACK SLIME?_ But you stop, and you don’t say anything. Because the black shit has spread and _by God it better not eat anything else like it did the bullet-_

Peters asks you, “Shouldn’t we try to stop the-”

“Did you _see_ what it did to that bullet?” you shoot back, “If it did that to _lead_ what’s it gonna do to _us?_ ”

“What’s it doing to _her?_ Isn’t it our duty to do our best? _For her?_ ”

Some duty. You and Peters and Bernstein with his useless literature, instead of monitoring the thing, let it get to _the fucking tools_. Peters reaches to move them but he’s too late. The thing engulfs the scalpel. Which. You’re no expert but you’re pretty sure a C-section without a scalpel is as good as being up shit creek without a paddle.

It’s now or never. You take a deep breath, will your hand to still be there at the end of this, and plunge it into the black slime where you saw the scalpel disappear. May the rubber glove give you a fighting chance.The shit makes the most _ungodly noise_ you’ve ever heard. _Blitzkrieg_ offensive straight to the ears. Your entire head vibrates with sound. Your fingers close around nothing and you jerk your hand back. The thing shuts the fuck up and. There it is. The scalpel resurfaces next to the source- the _wound_ , as it were.

If you grab for it again now you might risk making the wound worse but- Holy fuck, it’s not really- _it is_.

That _thing_ better have sterilized that fucking scalpel. In the business you’d say it’s starting to _make an incision_ but this is hell so you say

“ _It’s fucking cutting her open”_  and Bernstein and Peters don’t look at you. They heard you. But they can’t look away. The _incision_ spreads up, up past where Bernstein’s manual would’ve said a Caesarean would end. 

“You’re _going to kill her_ ,” you say.

“Are you _talking_ to it?” Bernstein says, unbelieving.

“Do you have any _better_ ideas?” you retort.

The thing doesn’t listen to you. It keeps going, up her abdomen, in a weird, sweeping serpentine pattern. You’re not sure when she went unconscious. Despite your words, she doesn’t appear to be losing any more blood. She’s not pale or showing any other signs of blood loss, in fact, she’s almost _glowing_ . The only thing in the incision is _more of that black shit_ and- and- you squint- a tiny hand, that’s definitely there.

The baby. Right. The fucking. If- _when_ she wakes up you’re gonna have to deliver the bad news, the baby didn’t make it due to complications and- one of the fingers moved. That settles it. You’re gonna get that little guy out even if it means touching the slime again. He’s probably more scared than the lot of you.

Your heart rate is through the fucking roof and your vision’s blurred by tears but that kid is counting on you. You start from the hand and get a good grasp on the infant’s body through the slime. It doesn’t make a noise this time and you don’t remember what you were doing. You just know, now more than ever, you’re gonna lift this kid up.

So you do, and you’re holding the baby now. Kid’s definitely alive, and breathing but he’s completely silent. Maybe it’s a he? You can’t really tell ~~, it’s covered in black ooze~~.

Peters’ voice is shaky. “Aren’t… Babies supposed to have umbilical cords?”

“Aren’t babies supposed to _not cut themselves free with the help of sentient black shit?_ ” Bernstein half-shouts, voice hoarse.

 ~~They’re saying some more things but~~ you can’t hear them anymore. You look down at the kid. It stares up at you with huge blue eye ~~s~~ ~~you swear weren’t that big last time you looked.~~ There’s ~~no more black shit, just~~ the ~~weirdest fucking~~ baby boy ~~you’ve ever seen. You can’t really place what’s wrong with him.~~

You’re not a religious man. But if there’s a God, you’re pretty sure he’s far, far away right now. But that’s how war is anyhow. Abandoned by gods when we needed them most. Maybe that’s His punishment for bringing this kid here. It’s no place for an infant. But you don’t claim to know how this shit works.

Seriously, though. Aren’t babies supposed to cry ~~and not just stare at you, unblinking~~? As if on cue, he blinks. Maybe Bernstein’s book says what to do with a ~~weird~~ baby who won’t cry. You wrap him up and look up at the others. You get hit by a wave of feeling like, in spite of everything, it’s all going to be alright. Not alright, great, actually.

The black shit is all gone, there was never any. Black shit? A scalpel lays abandoned by her side, and she’s bleeding now. Bernstein and Peters are working on stitching her up with shaky hands. Bernstein is muttering something reassuring to himself, she’ll be okay, she’ll be okay. Of course she’ll be okay. Why are they freaking out anyway? This was a highly successful operation all things considered! Not a lot of kids survive being delivered premature, much less their mom getting _shot._

Actually, now that you look at it, what the hell did these dumb fucks do? How do you fuck up a C-section _that bad_? It almost looks like she- nevermind. She’s regained consciousness. You kneel next to her so she can see the kid.

“He’s… beautiful isn’t he?” she murmurs. You nod, a single tear in your eye. Most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen, really. Bernstein and Peters are looking at you and her like you’re speaking Japanese.

“Here, you take him, you look like you saw a fucking ghost. I’ll finish the stitching,” you offer to Peters and he stares at you with his mouth open. He takes the baby anyways and you watch his expression go serene. He mumbles something about “preventing shock” and hands the kid to Bernstein.

You work in silence. You all did a good job. None of you even fainted. She would be proud of you if she was all here right now. She’s definitely not. But she’s alive and so is the kid, against all odds. It’ll be a weird report to write, but hopefully you’ll all get fucking raises. Wonder what she’ll name the kid. You think it’d be nice if she named him Norman, after Normandy- well. You didn’t claim to be good at coming up with names.


End file.
